Blind Date: Gene Style
by sillygenie
Summary: What is happening? Is Gene going mad or what? He's certainly on a mission. There are three lovely ladies behind that screen and Gene has to pick one...


**ITV's** **Blind Date: Gene style.**

**Warning: ** **Cheese rating 10!**

For those who don't remember, or were too young, _Blind Date_ was full of 'contestants' coming out with scripted sentences full of tasteless innuendo that no-one in their right mind would ever spout unless they were in a particularly bad _Carrry On _film.

Had an idea of using the _Blind Date_ scenario with a variety of combinations of contestants but when I researched when _Blind Date _ran from I found that it didn't start until 1985. That gave me another idea so just so you know, this action takes place in 1986 or thereabouts.

The characters are not mine I'm just playing with them...sorry.

Thanks to Fenella Church for her encouragement.

Hope you enjoy.

He knew he was losing control. Ever since DI Dipstick had had his revelation holding onto the strands of his Gene Genie world had become neigh on bloody impossible. DI Dipstick or Dectective Inspector David Digby to give him his proper title, had been around for three years now: a pencil pushing, paper shuffling force who Gene had roughed up and bashed into something that resembled a half decent copper. Actually, not that he'd tell him, DI Digby was a bloody good copper. Not that it had been easy getting him to accept the ways of the Geniverse but they'd got there in the end.

Now said copper should by rights be heading to the pub, but things had been going wrong. Another DI had turned up demanding 'attention', and knock the Gene Genie down with a popsiclestick but it was DI Dipstick who'd actually taken the responsibility upon himself to slap the new recruit into shape.

Gene had been beginning to feel the twinges of imminent redundancy but any thoughts of throwing in the towel had had to be shelved when what was probably a dark force had started stirring up more mischief than a bunch of disgruntled miners at a Conservative wives fundraiser.

For instance, there was this aberration. Gene's forthcoming appearance on bloody double bollocks _Blind Date_.

For once he couldn't tell if he'd dreamt up the swanky pink dressing room and camp attendant flittering round his face with a powdery make-up brush or if it part of his normal reality. He really was in danger of losing his grip.

At the back of his mind he had a memory of Digby spouting some bullshit about needing to flush out a wanted woman using him, Gene, as bait, but that memory was no clear indication that at this moment he was awake or for that matter, sober.

He should have shrugged off the Blind Date idea as being as laughable as Prince Charles having a bit on the side, but here he was, Gene Hunt, tied to a make-up chair being primped and primed for the nation's delectation.

Thank god for single malt was all he could say.

The flurry of activity around him intensified and before he knew it he was being guided into position at the back of the stage and being forced to listen to an annoyingly jaunty theme tune whilst the backstage crew psyched themselves up with a get ready dance. He didn't join in.

- _Bloody pansies, the lot of them_.

He would have wished for the floor to open up and swallow him whole if he could be sure he'd end up somewhere peaceful. He rolled his eyes upwards. The irony of the theatre ceiling being decorated with stars was not lost on him, but, he thought, puffing out his chest, he was a man not a mouse. Running away wasn't an option. He was a police officer on an important operation. He would just have to stick this one out.

Counting himself lucky that a stern glare had dissuaded the camp brush-wielder from confiscating his hip-flask he took a long slug of whisky. Returning the flask to his jacket's breast pocket his fingers came in contact with his question cards.

Well 'they' called them _his_, the reality was rather different.

Earlier on in the afternoon some toffee-nosed bat with a thinly disguised line of moustache on her top lip had told him that he could make up his own questions, but when he'd told her the questions he'd like to ask - cup size, bra opening at the front or the back - she'd scripted some of her own and it was these that graced his breast pocket waiting impatiently to be asked.

Out front the pint-sized dynamo that was Cilla Black was ad-libbing through her standard good-feel spiel and introducing 'the girls'. He knew he should be listening but the happy clapping of the crowd as the women took their seats had unnerved him. He didn't think he needed to know they were called Tracy, or they came from Tring or Truro or some other god forsaken place.

_What kind of women would come on a tacky show like this anyway...?_ He stopped himself. _Don't believe the hype Gene. You're not here to find a shag for the night_ - _you're here to work._

Perhaps that was why he had a terrible sense of foreboding. The other time - the only time - when he'd put himself in front of the cameras for work hadn't ended at all well.

'You're on now me ducks, break an elbow.' He had just time to register camp brush-wielder's annoying twitter before he was pushed, blinking like a rabbit destined for the pot, onto the set and into the audience's view.

Trying to gather some composure he thought he heard someone say 'Smile you miserable bugger' - but he must have misheard - the only person nearby was the flame-haired rasp-tongued Liverpudlian, Cilla Black herself, flashing her legs in a smart red red suit complete with matching red heels that stirred something like hurt deep inside his guts.

'Well tonight girls you're may be hoping to take home a new man, and that man is called Gene, and he's from London.' Cilla introduced him in her customary effusive fashion.

Shielding himself from the spotlight Gene waved his hand at the audience in a gesture that owed more to self-defence than cheeriness and bent his head towards Cilla as they connected in the briefest of luvie-like greetings.

'Manchester, actually.' He growled into her ear, trying not to breath in too much hairspray for fear of initiating his first asthma attack and despising the idea that he could be any way called a 'new man'.

Breaking out of their hold Cilla flashed him a steely don't-you-dare look. The speed at which she'd switched personalities and was back to charming the audience made him wonder whether she was another incarnation of the devil set to test him or if she really was 'our Cilla', sixties minor pop sensation turned presenter extraordinaire. Perhaps the clue was in the name 'Black'. He could just see another Keats in Cilla's shoes - but he thought reluctantly it was too early to judge. There was a game to be played after all.

He settled himself on the stool; one crocodile booted foot on the floor, the other on the bar of the foot bar. Operation don't look like a prathad started.

Cilla, like the old pro that she outwardly appeared to be, was grinning cheekily at the audience, fanning her face with her hands, making out she thought he was hotter than hot - which considering he'd been buffed and puffed to within an inch of his life, he probably was.

'Well girls, have we got a treat for you tonight?' The audience cheered. _Probably been paid off._

Cilla turned to him again, hissing 'smile' through her artificially whitened teeth. He widened his lips briefly in response.

'Oh, my God! Cop a look at those lashes…' She screeched. Gene twisted the cards in his hand as Cilla dived off to mouth 'lashes die for' at the expectant women behind the screen.

'Gene,' she began on returning, 'what an unusual name. And what do you do Gene love?'

'I work for the Met. I'm a police officer.'

'Well we all love a man in uniform - don't we girls?' Cilla winked saucily and raised her arms eliciting an even bigger cheer from the audience. Gene sighed inwardly as the thought of men in uniform excited a crowd desperate for titillation - and thought better of mentioning the fact that he hadn't worn a uniform in over thirty years.

'Well Gene, we've got three lovely girls for you tonight. All desperately waiting your questions. I suspect you'll be a dab hand at this won't you, being a police officer? I bet in depth interrogation is right up your street, eh Gene?'

'You could say that.'

'Hey ladies, you're in for a treat 'ere.'

'Well a man of your experience should know how to ask the right questions to ask, but if you could go out with any woman in the world what would she be like?'

He wanted to say the only woman he wanted wasn't in this world but he'd worked out that the audience was braying for blood so he threw in his old standard response about a bombshell barmaid with a chest the size of Belgium.

'Well that's certainly made them think' Cilla opined, 'hasn't it ladies?' The audience erupted - now into laughter - at his expense. His insides squirmed but he jutted his jaw out all the same. He was the Manc lion. No thin quick quipping Liverpudlian was going to get one over on him.

'Get on with it Guv!' DI Dipstick's shout came from the wings. Throwing him a 'hold your horses' glance he pulled out his question cards. He supposed with a few Gene Genie's embellishments he could make them work.

'Right.' His voice sounded small. He coughed to clear it and began, louder. 'Let's get the asking questions over and done with. Question number one. As a police officer I depend on my team to help me keep the streets clear of criminal scum. If you were my partner which crime fighting duo would we be and why should I have you on my team?

'Well Gene, hello...' Gene's heart froze. _The voice… it couldn't be_….Gene was too confounded to answer back. The unseen woman continued. 'I think I with my hair I'd have to be Jill Gascoine as Maggie Forbes in the Gentle touch….' The crowd murmured their approval as the familiar voice continued to purr, 'because although I can pack a punch when I want, if we hit it off I'll show you just how 'gentle' my touch can be.'

Gene fanned his face with his cards. He must be hearing things. _A woman with a voice like his Bolly had just said 'genital' and touch in the same sentence - on live TV. _

He just about stammered out, 'And to number two…'

'Good evening Gene,' began the same familiar voice. _It was happening again. Had every girl behind that screen been to whatever missy posh-knicker's school of elocution that Bolly had been to or was someone deliberately trying to mess with his head._

'I think we should be Dempsey and Makepeace' she simpered seductively, 'because if you were to make peace with me then you'd never have to look for another partner.'

_Bloody Hell. This way lay madness - but he had to ask._

'Same question to number three.'

'Hello Guv.' He glanced up at Cilla almost expecting her to have grown horns. She hadn't but was glaring at him to answer 'the woman' back.

'Hello.' He managed to squeak out.

'Well some people have called me an angel, but although if you saw me you'd agree I've got the looks and twice the brains I wouldn't be a Charlie's Angel Gene. Pick me tonight and I'll be all yours.'

One question, three answers. The crowd was roaring now but hewas going mad wasn't he? It had to be sexual desperation - didn't it? Lack of action had him creating bloody constructs out of one woman, each from a more recent period of his personal history than the last. Bolly - the real Bolly - would have a field day. He looked over to DI Dipshit. He was grinning in a friendly over-compensating but trying to be reassuring sort of way. Obviously he thought things were going well. Perhaps the three Bolly's were just in his, Gene's head. Perhaps he'd conjured them up because…?

He couldn't answer his own question so he fired out another one.

'Right you lot, listen up. Question number two. Some people have commented that I have -' he read the word 'lovely' and chose to ignore it, ' - hands and eyes. What have people complemented you on?'

'And who would you like to ask…?'

'Question to number one… er…. Please.'

'Well I do hope you are an animal lover Gene because people are always complementing me on my puppies,' the audience exploded into wolf-whistles and cat calls. God only knew what 'the first contestant with Bolly's voice' was doing behind the screen. She continued silkily, '….and if you pick me tonight if you're not too breathless, you could give them a stroke or two.' The audience jeered loudly but Gene felt relieved. It couldn't be her. No way would his Bolly talk like that. Not unless she was undercover...

'Same question to number two.'

'Hello Gene. How are you tonight?' The same plum-in-the-mouth voice again. 'Someone once told me I had a very pretty face but they also said I went on longer than the Great Wall of China - but don't despair -'

He ran his finger down his collar, he wasn't despairing but if this torture went on any longer he'd be suicidal.

' -Don't despair because as someone else said I've also got very pretty fingers and if we put your lovely hands and my pretty fingers together, I'm sure we could make a connection.'

He breathed in heavily. This was bloody doing his head in, but he might as well get it over with.

'Same question to number three.'

'Well Guv, as I've got your number already all that remains is for you to get your coat and I'm sure once you see me, you'll be in heaven.'

Hope was fluttering on the periphery of his understanding but he had to batter it away before it hurt too much. Cold was best. Ice to numb the pain. Anger to chase it away.

Someone was definitely playing silly buggers.He tore up the white cards. Now he would ask the right questions.

'Question number three.' He barked. 'In my line of work I have to sum up people quickly. I rely on my gut instinct to tell me if someone is feeding me a pile of bullshit. What should my gut instinct say about you? Question three to number one.'

'Well I think Gene your instinct would tell you that although I look like a bit of a tart I'll be the first to get down to the job in hand.'

'And what job would that be?' The thinly veiled distrust in his tone had Cilla shooting warning daggers but he ignored her.

'Making you happy of course.' Cilla opened her mouth to say something but he cut her off before she could release a sound.

'Question three to number two.'

'Well it sounds like you've got issues with trust, but trust me and we'd really could be unbreakable.' Yes he remembered that line - how he bitterly wished it could be true. Whoever was messing with his head really did know how to get to him.

'Same question to number three.' He asked puffing his chest out and expecting the worst.

'I think Gene your instinct is telling you so much of this is true, you just have to believe you're worth it.'

He looked over to an oblivious smiling DI Dipstick. Grinning like a kid in a toy shop. Well it wasn't fair, this, these bloody reminders of her - there was still work he had to do wasn't there?…'

Cilla put her hand on his shoulder. He had to stop himself from flinching. No female had touched him for years, but a quiet voice inside was whispering, perhaps it was about time that they did.

'Oh my God, that was so intense - I confess' Cilla effused, 'I confess police officer - I don't know what for, but I confess - eh, audience. Tell you what else Gene, I don't know how you're going chose from those three lovely lasses over there, but here's our Nelson with a reminder. '

The annoying jaunty music was playing again. _Blind Date, Blind Date_…

_Hang on didn't she just say Nelson….?_

'Well hello mon brav'. Long time no see.' The unlikely voiceover chuckled. 'Now are you gonna pick contestant number one, 'cos they say that she be all fur coat and no knickers.'

Nelson paused to allow for the audience's laughter.

'Or are you going to pick contestant number two, the lovely lady who be just dying to make a connection? Or will it be contestant number three? - she got your number my friend but still wants to take you to heaven?

Well now Gene Hunt, your time is up. Who you gonna to pick? The choice mon brav' is yours.'

He took a deep breath. Soon as he could get this farce over and done with the better for everybody. He almost had to shout over all the commotion. There was no choice really. He couldn't say no to the only one who really knew him.

'Contestant number three.'

A cheer ran round the audience. Looking across the room he noticed DI Dipstick was beaming as he joined in the applause.

'Well I know you won't be disappointed,' started Cilla on her countdown speech, 'but let's just look at who you turned down. You turned down contestant number one. All the way from 2008.'

Gene's eyes popped out of his head as a long stockinged leg stepped out from behind the screen.

'She may have just stepped off the boat but you have to agree she's dressed to impress.'

Gene's eyes feasted on a vision of Bolly, just as he'd first seen her, in the little red dress that left nothing to the imagination and exposed those legs. He thought he might just have a heart attack.

A tumble of curls pressed into his cheek as she gave him a quick stage hug. _No knickers eh? _ Was he going to regret his decision?

His heart was beating louder than a Black Sabbath concert, but Cilla was in her stride.

'Straight from the streets of 1982 she wanted to be your anchor but it wasn't to be. You turned down contestant number two.'

His hands skimmed over her white leather jacket as he kissed her cheek._ Her in leather always did give me the bloody horn._ He tore himself away from her eyes as Cilla with surprising strength pulled him back to stand by the screen again.

'Nervous?' She smiled, holding him in a vice like grip.

'Nervous.' He admitted.

'Well don't be. You won't be disappointed - you chose contestant number three.'

He held his hands together in front of him. If this was what he thought it was he'd waited for it for what seemed like an eternity. If he wasn't …. Then he didn't have any faith in anything anymore.

The screen slipped slowly back to reveal a familiar building.

He wasn't in a television studio anymore - he wasn't even inside. He was standing outside the Railway Arms.

He should have known.

Behind him the television studio and all the people in it dissolved away.

Contestant number three, his Bolly, was leaning in the doorway. She was framed by the light but he could still make out she was wearing the cream dress that had taken his breath away when they'd been on their last fateful date. Without a second glance backwards he started to stroll over towards her, hands in his pockets, heart in his mouth.

'So who gets to chose where we're going on holiday?' He gruffed.

'We don't.' She said patiently.

'So no coming back next week to tell Cilla she should buy a new hat?'

She laughed, a beautiful tinkling sound that made the corners of his mouth twitch in response.

'No Gene.' She shook her head. 'No coming back.'

'You waited for me?' He asked chancing raising his eyes to meet hers.

'Always. Are you ready?' The light around her was beginning to hurt his eyes but he couldn't tear them away from the sight of her.

'Don't know about ready, but I'm bloody thirsty…' He quipped, unable to help himself.

'Thirsty?' She sounded disappointed.

'Thirsty for you you daft mare. Come here before my legs turn to jelly and you have to carry me over the threshold.'

'Couldn't have that could we?'

He smiled wistfully at her.

'It has to be your decision you know, to come in.' Her fingers found interest in the moulding of the door frame. 'I can't come out you know.'

'So what was that with all the _Blind Date _stuff?'

'Smoke and mirrors Gene. Something me and Nelson cooked up with a little help from DCI Digby.'

'DI Digby you mean….oh... ' He trailed off as he realised what had happened. 'It's really my time then is it Bols?'

'Champagne's on the bar Guv -'

'Then what are we waiting for?' And with that he strode into the light and into her arms.

DCI Digby caught the tail end of a huge welcoming roar as the doors finally closed on DCI Gene Hunt. He just hoped he'd have half the welcome as Gene had when his time came, but now he had a job to do.

Somewhere in the always accommodating upper rooms of the Railway Arms, Gene lay glorying in his and his Bolly's post coital haze in the most welcoming bed he'd ever lain in. Streaming sunlight warmed the room and even birdsong twittered outside. Freed from the harsh concerns of upholding the halfway world he looked and felt younger, fitter, beautiful. Although when he and Bolly hadn't been enjoying each other's company he'd spent time drinking like a fish and catching up with those he'd helped into the pub he didn't even have a hangover.

His fingers lazily journeyed up and down the bare limb of the wonderful naked woman nestling beside him as he idly thought about the events that had led him to the blissful state he now found himself in.

'So the _Blind Date _thing Bols. What would have happened if I'd chosen one of the other yous?'

She circled his nipples with a considered fingertip before answering.

'Well you wouldn't be here. They were versions of me, but they weren't quite ready for this.' She clutching him briefly tighter she let her hand wander down his body to remind him of all that they had. 'If you had chosen them then I think it showed you weren't ready either.' She dropped a melancholic kiss to his chest. 'You'd have still been out there.'

'So where are they now, contestants no knickers number one and trust me number two?'

'Well they're there Gene,' She waved her hand to indicate the unknown ether, 'and here.' She patted her chest.

'There're here?' He asked placing an incredulous finger on her chest and bending his head to lick the valley between her breasts.

'Yes Gene, they're here.' She smiled, wriggling joyfully under the touch of his tongue.

'So…' She could almost hear him thinking as his tongue journeyed across to flick at a hardening nipple, 'you can summon them up if you want?' He pulled away to sit up as an idea hit him.

'Yes Gene. They're parts of me, they still exist.'

'Blimy. So you - or I - can call them up... all three of you at the same time?'

'Gene….!' Sitting up she grabbed a pillow to bash him with.'

'Can't blame a bloke for asking Bolls.' He chuckled between swipes. 'It is heaven.'

Suddenly she stopped swinging the pillow and looking down at his teasing twinkling eyes she leaned over to press her lips against his.

After some consideration of his taste she replied. 'Yes Gene. It is - heaven.'

'Heaven.' He agreed, as in the bar downstairs another Gene Hunt, a skinny uniformed younger version, chatted up a Diana Dors lookalike with a chest the size of Belgium.

The End.

Please leave a review - if only to say how appalled at the corny lines you were!


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